


I overthink all my thinking, thinking this way for you

by Mis_Shapes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Jon likes taking it off, M/M, Modern AU, Phone Sex, Teachers, Theon likes wearing silk, and mentions of bondage, as to be expected, how do I tag this?, i'm not sure it can even be described as that, its really very tame, there's an erotically charged phone call, very vague references to the two R named elephants in the room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: 10 years after leaving, Theon returns to teach at the school he and the Starks once went to, where Jon is a Politics teacher and he will work alongside Sansa in the Art, Design and Technology department. Jon is initially unimpressed with this invasion.





	I overthink all my thinking, thinking this way for you

**Author's Note:**

> So, the characterisation is slightly different to what I intended, but I don't think its too unrealistic (hopefully) considering they should have both matured a little - ha!
> 
> Brief comment on the subjects because I don't know how it works in other places - we have subjects that are grouped together into D&T (textiles, food, graphics, resistant materials, electronics) and because unlike others they aren't each taught every week all year round to each class it means teachers sometimes teach and another and/or art. In this its implied that Theon is teaching textiles and Sansa food tech, plus both of them art.

If Jon were the type to sit in the staffroom he might have heard his name being banded about, might have heard the word Greyjoy, and if he were the type to get gossipy with his colleagues he might have heard that the infamous Theon Greyjoy was about to reappear in his life. Such as things were, he was neither of those types. Not that he didn’t talk to people, it was just strictly work based, and as this was nothing to do with his department no one saw fit to tell him about it and he had a strong suspicion later that Sansa had chosen to ‘forget’ to tell him about the incoming storm.

Maybe he’d have been able to stay blissfully ignorant if it weren’t for Sansa. It had been a shock to find him perched on one of the high stools in her food tech classroom, leant side against the counter with his ridiculously tight trousered long legs crossed, and a plate of lemon cakes beside him. Flicking through some of the kids’ portfolios from the previous year, he took a sip from the mug in his hand, making a small face at the taste and setting it down.

“Is it ok?” Sansa called from the backroom in which they stored things from both the food classroom and the adjoining textiles room.

“It’s fine, thanks,” responded Theon while simultaneously failing to keep the disgust off his face. At least that was something, at least he had the decency to keep these things to himself now.

Jon stood frozen in the doorway, watching as Theon pushed back his hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear to get a better look at something. It was longer now, and it suited him like that, Jon acknowledged, and it fell in a way that emphasised his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He smiled at something unknown to Jon and turned to the next page, brushing his fingers delicately over the fabric samples. Eyes fixated on on lips that were as though stained by strawberries, Jon’s mind wandered to them around one. A thought so unwanted he was bound not to forget it anytime soon.

“How’s it looking, how - oh! Hi Jon!” Her face turned from her goto cheery smile to dismay in seconds, realising what she’d done. “Look who’s here.” The smile came back chagrin.

Theon dragged his eyes casually up from the brainstorm on the paper, wagging his foot a little up and down as though he had little interest in who was there. On spotting just who it was he took a double take, choked a little on the mouthful of coffee and almost spat it out, spluttering and reaching for the tea towel hooked around the oven at his knees.

“I’ve seen,” stated Jon, monotone and forcing emotion from his face, as he straightened out his tie from habit. “I was wondering if you wanted a lift. Did Tyrion drop you today?”

“Thanks, but Theon already offered.”

Theon smiled smugly, a little too smug for someone who had just almost coughed up his lungs, and held up his hand from the arm resting on the table as greeting.

“OK… well… I’ll see you tomorrow then I suppose.” He hesitated in the doorway as Theon, who was now back to the work, peeked back at him expectantly, as though waiting to see if he wanted something else from either of them.

“Bye,” came Sansa’s meek voice, made awkward by the situation.

How had this come to be? He’d thought this building free at least from Theon Greyjoy’s physical presence, if not his ghost. Haunted by the memory of him never having a moment to spare for him, never giving him a second glance, unless it was to taunt or to mock. A memory of him, Jon hoped, being oblivious of his ill-fated attraction. His eyes only for Robb, his advances only for the girls that surrounded him on a regular basis. He’d cursed that this was the only school that had a vacancy for a politics teacher.

“Yeah, bye.” He backed out of the room and spun on his heel, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

Theon let out a funny noise as he walked away, as though forcing a snigger. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“He- he just… he wasn’t expecting you is all.” Sansa had her reassuring voice on. Why she thought Greyjoy would care what he thought of him was something Jon couldn’t comprehend.

A snort. “I’m sure.”

No matter, it wasn’t like he did all the social hanging around anyway and Theon was in an entirely different wing of the school with a seemingly entirely different subject. They’d never have to see each other. Sansa would just have to go to him. But in life things don’t quite work like that. He was on the same break duty, he spotted him hovering by a wall surrounded by some of the kids shouting ‘sir’ at him, and then it appeared they had forms in the same year group and therefore ultimately had the same assemblies to go to.

This time he was stood out on the lawn, the very same lawn Jon had watched him laid back on in the sun as a teen, with his arms crossed as they waited for the pupils to get up on the benches and in position for a year group photography. The smell of cut grass in the air brought back nostalgia of those lazy summer days.

“Hey Snow,” Theon smirked as he slipped a hand down into a pocket. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Mmmm,” Jon murmured back, simply raising his eyebrows to acknowledge the joke and falling in to stand beside him and make an attempt to be civil. He pulled off the suit jacket to cool off during the wait and folded it over his arm, running a finger between the collar of his shirt and neck. It was too nice a day to be working.

Theon looked him up and down while he messed around with his attire, tongue in cheek as he was blatantly considering him, “decided not to dress up for the occasion I see.”

Taking a deep breath Jon pulled his lips taut into what might be optimistically interpreted as an attempt to smile but remained silent, not trusting himself to speak.

Theon yawned, feigning nonchalance. “You know, if you must insist on wearing this get up you should consider a darker grey suit… and a blue tie”

“Right.” He wasn’t interested in Greyjoy’s fashion advice, especially not while he’s was a flouncy silk shirt he supposes is some designer’s in statement piece.

Suddenly Theon’s eyes pulled away from him and back to the stands. “It would suit you,” a cough and a hand moving to scratch the nape of his neck, “with the eyes and hair and everything…”

Jon cocked a brow, was Greyjoy trying to be nice to him? Since when did he know what his eyes looked like?

“You really need to get a tailor though, that cut is terrible, but I suppose the colour is an easy fix for you, for now.” His eyes sparkled with the mischief of it, lip curling up into the lopsided smirk he was so prone to.

 

Ready to throttle him, he rolled his eyes and turned away as Theon looked back at him. He seethed while trying to ignore the fact that Theon had somehow only become more charming with age. “You ought to tone it down a little, and get a tie. There are guidelines about these things you know?”

“No. There isn’t,” Theon told him confidently.

“Yes. There is,” he returned, equally as stubborn.

“Ready to be proved wrong?” Theon asked, pulling out his phone. He could play this game if he wanted. It would be nice to see the smile wiped off his face.

“Go ahead, if you want to try. I mean, I’ve been here a while now, you know.”

“You think you know best is what you mean?” The shirts thin fabric blew against him in the breeze where his shape was only emphasised by the shine of the sun as it broke through the clouds.

“If the shoe fits,” said Jon simply, shrugging and averting his eyes. He was struggling to hide the allure of this eccentric new colleague from himself, but he’d be damned if he let on to anyone else, especially not Greyjoy.

“For fucks sake,” Theon muttered under his breath. “You always did think you were right about everything, you’ve not changed a bit.”

Outraged, Jon turned to challenge him but he was already stalking across the grass. Did he always strut? Like life was some fucking runway. Probably, knowing him. Arrogant twat. _Arrogant twat with a fantastic arse on him,_ he noted with irritation as he watched him take the high step up.

A distraction from his anguish came in the form of a vibration from the phone in his pocket, it didn’t last long. Glad for it, he faced away from everyone to check his messages only to find Greyjoy had sent him a link to the dress code which simply read _smart attire and sensible footwear_. He then, regrettably, dared a look over and was met with a grin from Theon, looking pretty pleased with himself and blowing a sneaky kiss, making Jon cringe and perhaps pickening his cheeks a little.

*

As though he wanted the last word in some way, wanted the upper-hand back, he became disappointed at the severe lack of Greyjoy run ins over the following week. He’d even been to Sansa’s classroom and not run into him while Sansa pleaded with him to try and be a little more courteous, but refused to answer why he should. Then it turned much worse. The realisation hit him as he looked down into the courtyard one break time from his classroom, on the lookout, that he simply wanted to see him. It wasn’t like he’d be able to make any sort of sarky comment to him from up there. Falling to sit back his chair, he took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.

“Sir!” One of the younger Frey’s ran in shouting, cheeks flushed from the exertion.  “A fight. Down the hall.”

By the time they got there Greyjoy was already between the two principal boys, holding his hands up to each one of their chests, but struggling to keep them separated as he attempted to rationalise the situation with them until they eventually broke from him and the tussle resumed.

Entering the fray, Jon, managed to get them apart once more, holding the closest one’s arms behind his back and called to Theon while pointing at the other, slightly younger and more terrified looking kid, “Theon!” _Shit._ “I mean, sir, would get Waldar out of here please?”

Fifteen minutes later, after taking the boy to isolation and dealing with milling children asking what he knew about ‘Theon’, he sat holding out his phone in front of him, using the front camera as a mirror, something which was a little confusing to position etc when it came down to it. He winced at the sting as he dabbed a little blood with tissue from the cut lip and completely missed Greyjoy coming in.

“Looking a bit rough aren’t you, Snow?”

Jon looked up at who appeared to be the schools new favourite, already scowling. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have to go teach something? I don’t know, making cushion covers or something? Tea towels?”

“Ouch,” Theon laughed, perching on the other side of the desk from him. “How long you been holding on to that one?”

Sighing, Jon put down the phone and crossed his arms on the wooden surface, resting his forehead on his forehead for just a moment. “Sorry. Is there something I can do for you?”

Theon chuckled, leaning towards him from the other side of the desk and almost whispering, “actually, I was wondering if I might do something for you.” He winked and sat back again. “I’m sorry, we got off to a bad start…, “ he hesitated, “we should try to get on. For Sansa.”

“What would you do?” The question immediately brought on all kinds of connotations to mind. He could reach over and tug him over by the knees, use the height of the desk to him sat in the lower chair to an advantage maybe, or pull him onto his lap. No, Greyjoy at his feet. He must have zoned out for a moment, because suddenly he jolted and stiffened, clutching at the armrest of the chair as he tried to keep calm. “I mean, how do you propose to help me?” _We might struggle with Greyjoy’s legs and those armrests..._

“Well, as someone who is proficient in creating pillow cases,” he smirked as Jon grimaced, “I thought perhaps I might patch up your shirt.”

“My shirt?” Jon asked, dumbfounded, looking down.

Theon pointed at the ripped front pocket he hadn’t even noticed, sucking in his lip.

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

“I insist, I can’t bear it.” His hand reached out to inspect how it had torn at the seam. His face becoming uncomfortably close. It was possible to see just how mesmerising his eyes were in a way he’d never been able to before, a strange realisation. They’d gotten closer physically, and he supposed more generally, over the last couple of weeks than they had had all those years prior.

“You could leave and forget about it.” Too quiet, almost a whisper. A suggestion he didn’t truly want to be taken up but felt like he had to offer.

“Go do some colouring?” Those beautiful lips turned to the striking smile he did so well and he swept his hair back to see properly. The movement brought a waft of the most incredible smell. It was everything in his power not to lean forwards to catch more of it.

Jon smiled sheepishly, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Looking up to catch Jon watching him and subsequently meeting his eyes, he stilled for a moment and visibly swallowed, gaze then drifting to Jon’s lips. “Oh, Sansa sent some ice, for the lip,” he said as he slid back across the desk and took an ice pack out of a canvas bag.

“Ah, so you do care for more than just my clothing,” joked Jon.

Theon’s eyes fell back to lingered on his mouth as though about to say something but then the moment was lost. “Have you ever thought about how Mr Snow sounds?” He asked, laughing, not like the snipes he’d usually make, but a playful jest he’d make at a friend. He was right too, it did sound daft, it made him cringe just thinking about it.

Despite himself Jon smiled bashfully. “Yeah, I know.”

“Come on, get that shirt off and the ice pack on.” He grinned as though he were enjoying this far too much for Jon’s comfort, like he might turn it in to some game.

Jon loosened the tie with Theon watching, like though they were playing some elaborate game of chicken; slowing down the movements as he nailed his eyes on him, sliding it off and down. Just in case he had any illusion that he was alone in this sport, the stormy eyes followed the hands as they went to remove cufflinks. While his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest, he trailed his hands down to unbutton the top few buttons before finally pausing awkwardly at the forth. This couldn’t go further.

“What is it, Snow? Feeling shy? Want me to turn around?” Smirking, he did then look away to pull up a chair to sit in properly and continued to keep his eyes averted while wetting a thread of cotton on his tongue, then finding the eye of the needle.

Purposefully, Jon chucked the shirt to him just as he was about to get it through, throwing him off, he’d intended to change the mood but realised his mistake immediately while still sniggering.

Theon’s jaw dropped in mock shock, still looking at his hands. “Anyone would think you really didn’t care about the state of your shirt,” he sighed, glancing over. As he caught sight of Jon’s bare chest they each each fell silent until he sucked his teeth and looked away, carrying on. “I suppose you think you could get away without wearing one.”

Lost for words, Jon placed the ice against the lip, recoiling slightly from it the initial touch of pain as the cold hit the cut. It would turn into a nasty bruise at this rate. This was ridiculous, it wasn’t like they’d never seen each other topless, all those years Robb had insisted Theon go on holiday with them. And just like that he was onto thinking about ripping that silk shirt off Greyjoy himself. “So…” he began, searching for something to say.

“Don’t do this,” Theon almost snapped.

Jon, always on the defence, turned irritable. “Do what?”

“Try to make small talk.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

Jon opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, so he simply watched the needle, held by Theon’s skilled hands, darting in and out until he had finished. A sliver glint on the white cotton shirt.

“Let me know when you decide.” Theon tossed over the shirt and left without a single look back at him. “If not, I suppose I’ll see you if I ever need to know the ins and outs of how filibustering or something works… you know, practical skills. Not like being able to fix your own fucking shirt.”

“I never asked you to fix the shirt,” he mumbled.

“Not the point, Snow. Not the point.” The door slammed behind him just after.

*

He woke to the sound of the phone on the bedside table buzzing in the darkness, with only the moon to light the room, the screen lit with the word Greyjoy. Considering, momentarily, that perhaps he’d overslept, he squinted in the darkness at the bright light in front of him, trying to make out the time. Only 3am, his mind went to the worst-case scenarios.

“Hey?” Jon answered the phone wearily, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Too tired yet to be grumpy, he was the type to get disorientated rather than being cross when woken up.

“Snow,” Theon’s voice groaned into his ear down the line, “you’re killing me.”

Confused, Jon’s brows furrowed. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s the problem.”

Jon fell silent and pulled himself to sit up in the bed, suddenly starting to wake. He couldn’t be calling for that reason, he’d left him in such a mood with him, and yet his voice said otherwise. Then again, he realised, maybe this was why.

“Snow?” He sounded hesitant, almost nervous, as though Jon might have decided he really was going too far, like he’d step out of line. Which he probably had, if the hadn’t done so hours ago, but in the dark of the night some things are easier to push aside and pretend they were never there.

“I’m still here… Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He teased as a small grin crept onto his face.

Theon’s voice rasped back. “Shit, Snow, I know you’ve got the whole naive thing going on…” How nice it was to have him at his whim. Something he’d try to make him desire as much as he did himself.

“Okay… okay.” Why was he whispering? Biting his lip, he ran through thoughts of what to say, still half asleep. “I…”

“Just speak to me, I want to hear your voice.”

“Greyjoy,” Jon breathed, voice turning husky and insistent, “grab one of those pretty shirts of yours.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t argue, just do.” He’ll take advantage of having him at his beck and call if that’s available to him at the minute. “Now, I want you to run it over your skin while you tell me just why exactly you’re calling me at three in the morning.”

Almost miraculously, Theon did as he was asked. His breath hitched before he went on to put on his best sultry voice, the one he did so well. The one that was used for others, never him, now his. “I had a dream.”

“Tell me what happened in this dream, Greyjoy.”

Theon droned seductively, suggestively; not that that was at all required, “I got onto my knees for you.”

“Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.” The understatement of the century. He smiled. “Does the silk feel good?”

“Always, but I wish it was your hand controlling how it falls against my skin.”

“Me too… Touch yourself for me... I want to hear the noises you make when you stroke that silk against your cock.”

“Sn-” Most likely this was intended to be a protest against the potential ruining of a shirt, but Jon had little sympathy.

“No buts, you’ll do as you’re told.” He put on the most authoritative voice he could muster despite the urge to laugh, surprising himself. At least he had years of practice at this skill.

A gasp sounded down the phone which had him grin. “Shitting hell, Snow!”

“I thought you might like that.” Breaking finally into a small chuckle he continued wistfully, “oh, the things I could do to you with that shirt.”

“Tell me.”

“Now now…” scolded Jon playfully between his own groans.

“Please… Please tell me what you’d do.”

“I love hearing you beg, Greyjoy. I’m going to make you beg for me to let you come one of these days.”

“Gods. Please.” His breathing grew laboured, his words strung.

“I bet those nipples of yours are hard, aren’t they? They’re so quick to harden.”

Theon laughed low between moans and soft gasps. “Have you been looking at me? Is this why you care so much about what I’m wearing? Like what you see?”

“They’re such a distraction, you’re such a distraction, I can’t stop thinking about kissing, licking, you through that thin fabric. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He whimpered, the the sound running through Jon and making him shudder; aroused at the thought of the effect he might be able to have. “You know I would.”

“If you haven’t already, put your speaker phone on, take that free hand of yours and have a play, pretend it’s me. I want to hear you say my name again.”

“Jon, please.”

Unable to help himself anymore he palmed himself over his boxers, determined to finish Theon off first. “Would you like to feel that silk tight against your wrists, Greyjoy?”

“That, or one of your ties,” he half laughed through the groan.

Jon let out a low chuckle and bit his lip to suppress his own.  “Gods... That would be good. We could use the shirt to blindfold you in that case.”

“Mmm,” Theon murmured eventually.

He smirked. “No gagging though, we both like the sound of your voice too much.”

A strained laugh.

Jon turned his voice softer and sincere. “I want to know every inch of your body until it’s etched into my mind and on to my hands.”

“It’s yours to explore, Snow,” Theon said huskily between moans, becoming breathless. “You only have to take it.”

“I want you to give yourself to me instead.”

“I’m so close.”

It was so easy to picture him like that, with his voice so needy, as Jon pressed his eyes closed. “Come for me.”

“You can’t just-”

Jon swallowed and sucked his lip. “Theon, baby...”

“Fuck….” He groaned before punching out as he came, “Jon-”

Jon bit his lip, looking up to the ceiling. “Theon?”

After a moment of waiting to confirm, his jaw clenching, he was still listening a half-hearted murmur came down the line. “Mmmm?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait! Did you…?”

“Goodnight, Greyjoy. Get some sleep.” He hung up the phone and turned his attentions to himself, leaning to root around the bedside table draw for the bottle of lube.

With barely a minute passing, the phone beeped again, this time with a picture message. An incredibly tastefully done black and white shot which must have been taken by a professional photographer. It doesn’t disguise that Theon’s eyes are half lidded and lips slightly parted, one hand tantalisingly only a finger tips reach from where the sheet only just covered him, and the other arm pulled up over his head, bent at the elbow.

_Thought this might be the one for you. Enjoy ;)_

It was possible even to detect his cockiness through text too then. Not that he was wrong.

*

A knock at the classroom door while he was stood at the whiteboard threw Jon off mid-sentence and train of thought.

“Come in!” He called, motioning in the small girl as she held out a note. She passed it over, but then remained stood by him expectantly. As he looked down at her quizzically she peeped up, “it’s from Mr Greyjoy, sir. He said you’d want to send one back.” He guffawed, feeling the classes eyes on him. “Thank you.”

_Meet me after school?_ Was written inside in Theon’s quirky handwriting, in a green pen because he just couldn’t do things like everyone else.

Coughing a little and trying to look serious in front of his pupils, he penned a response. _You can’t do this. They aren’t a messenger service._

For all of two seconds he was proud of himself. “Wait!” He opened the door to shout after the girl, snatching up a pen, a board pen that leaks through the paper and only writes large letters, he makes an addition. _Where?_

*

Sat on the wall behind the bike sheds, confiscated cigarettes in hand, he never thought he’d see the day goody two shoes Snow would be found there with him. He couldn’t comment on how Jon had clearly taken up his advice when it came to the suit and tie as, knowing Jon, he’d have a bit of a meltdown. It was a wonder really that he’d done something someone else had suggested, even if it wasn’t going to be mentioned. A shame really as he was looking particularly suave. It was probably time he admitted to himself that suits might do it for him.

“That photo?” asked Snow, as though it were a full question in itself, looking up into the clouds and anticipating them to break any moment.

Theon smirked and nipped his lip lightly as he flicked ash onto the damp floor. “What of it?”

“Who took it?” Jon reached to take the cigarette for a drag, brushing fingers. Still unable to light his own and smoke it to himself because that would make him a smoker. Ten years and still sticking to his conviction.

“Jealous?” It always had been fun to tease Jon, but it became more tempting now he knew his reaction to it could be more than just embarrassment. As fun as that was it didn’t surpass the thrill of flirtation, even if potentially they should be avoiding it.

“Fuck off.” The corner of Jon’s mouth furthest from the cut quirked slightly into a half smile as he blew out the smoke. “Would that be bad of me?”

Theon faltered a little and went on to ignore the question, answering the previous, “I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember?” His voice was doubtful in its curiosity.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“How can you not remember?”

“Hell, Snow, have you been living under a rock?” He shook his head. He really was trying not to come across as arrogant, but it was getting rather difficult. “Just… google my name or something.”

Jon looked up through those thick eyelashes of his. If you took all of Snow’s features separately; the curls, the lips, the eyelashes, you could mistake them for inspiration for one of those strange porcelain dolls like Sansa once had, but on him they had an entirely different look. His long face made them work for him. Theon had spent time around beautiful people since having left, but this had no comparison.  “There’s…” _pages of articles._

“Now, click on images.”

Suddenly, he smiled in a way that was unexpected for someone having discovered he’d been modelling all these year, a smile Theon doesn’t understand.

“What is it?”

“Just… now I know I can’t believe I hadn’t realised already. Nothing’s ever made so much sense.” Jon’s cheeks flushed that pretty pink colour, as though hit by a bitter wind, Theon was convinced he never realised happened.  Looking up from the phone, his head tilted slightly. “Why are you here? Why did you come back?”

“It’s not important… it just all got a bit too much. Couldn’t handle it I suppose.” A conversation for another time, another place, it was time to attempt to change the subject. “You know, the kids are already onto us,” he laughed both at them and the dismay on Jon’s face, “they wanted to award us best couple in the yearbook. Mr. Reed convinced them not to; said they couldn’t pick staff for that”

“How do you know?”

“IT’s just across the hall. I also know they’re planning to give me ‘best hair’”

“That category was _literally_ made for me!” exclaimed Jon, appalled.

“I know, but I’m afraid you just can’t compete with this.” He gave his hair a dramatic flick.

“Come here, it can’t be that good, let me have a closer look.”

Smirking knowingly, Theon lent forward to enable Jon to get his hand on it. He pushed it gently behind an ear with his forefingers, allowing them to drift on round and down onto his neck, causing him to shiver. The hand pulled back and cupped his face to guide him into a kiss, tender and unpresuming, as though the night before had never happened. There was a time when someone being so soppy and saccharine with him would have put him off, but instead he melted into it with the same relief he might feel dipping down into a warm bath.

“I’m glad you’re an enormous pain the arse that can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“Oh Snow, don’t be getting all sentimental on me,” Theon snickered as he swung a leg over to straddle him, enjoying the shock on Jon’s face but instant grab of the thighs to support him with a firm hand.

“I don’t think this is appropriate, you’ll get us in trouble.” He always had been the one to worry about getting ‘in trouble’.

“I’ve done much worse behind here.”

“I can believe it.” Jon laughed, giving him a playful light smack on the bum.

Exaggerating the effect, it had on him, he bit down on his lip. “Do that again.”

“You’re terrible,” Jon mumbled into his neck between kisses, tickling him. His hands squeezed and caressed instead before sliding slowly up to his waist and then back down to grip his hips. “We need to get out of here. Fuck, why are we here?”

“Please. Like you never used to fantasise about this.”

“You’re so fucking vain.”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

Taking matters into his own hands, Theon took hold of the back of his head to sink them the passionate kiss he sought, running fingers through Jon’s curls to drag a moan from him. Jon’s head moved forwards into the empty space when he pulled away, chasing his lips, enchanted. He was going to have this one wrapped around his little finger in no time. Such a well behaved thing, so straight down the line, ready for a little corruption.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to do something along the vein of what I initially intended soon, probably with no back story between them. This got a little soppy!


End file.
